


The Makers of Garlands

by Saucery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Suits (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst and Humor, Betrayal, Diplomacy, Drama, Grief/Mourning, Guardian-Ward Relationship, HARVEY NO, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi, Loss, M/M, Martial Arts, Meditation, Misunderstandings, Pederasty, Promiscuity to Monogamy, Psychic Bond, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, Teacher-Student Relationship, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, The Force, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Master Har-Vi Spectyr doesn't want a Padawan; they weigh a guy down. Nevertheless, Master Ysica - she of the terrifying countenance - forces Har-Vi to choose someone, anyone, so long as he trains a youngling and does his duty toward the Jedi Order.</p><p>But the Force leads Har-Vi not to a child, as is custom, but to a damaged youth, uncannily gifted but unable to connect to the Force. Dogged by grief and a friend's terrible betrayal, the young Myk Ros struggles to find inner peace.</p><p>With both Padawan and Master volatile and unwilling, what will become of their bond?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Makers of Garlands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bubbleena](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bubbleena).



> Because every fandom needs a _Star Wars_ fusion. Bless.

* * *

 

Har-Vi had been summoned to the Jedi Council yet again, to be lauded with further honors - although Har-Vi was beginning to suspect that it was all an excuse to tally every rule he'd broken in  _earning_  those honors.

And to harass him with pointless regulations, of course. Like this one.

"The time has come," said Ysica, "for you to take a Padawan."

" _Take_? That sounds rather risqué. Not to mention your use of the word – "

"Har-Vi," Ysica interrupted, "cease your puerile attempts at humor. You are no longer twelve."

"Oh, so you remember that." Har-Vi smiled. "I did wonder. Grown men cannot be commanded to do anything. And as I am no longer twelve, Master – "

"Oh, so you remember that," Ysica mirrored, icily. "Indeed, I was your Master. Where would you be, had I not plucked you from the mines of Moldavia?"

"In the mines of Moldavia, I imagine." Har-Vi shrugged. "I owe you a lot, Master, but I don't see how I owe anything to some cocky brat with authority issues."

Ysica merely looked at him.

"Why, Master, I'm hurt. I was the most earnest and obedient Padawan  _ever_."

There was a snort from the neighboring chair, from where Master Fritt usually maintained a sepulchral silence.

Har-Vi sighed. "You wound me. All of you. I am betrayed. _Deeply_ betrayed."

"What, this again?" Har-Vi slid his arms into his sleeves in what would've been a typical Jedi pose, had the sleeves not been embroidered in far-from-humble Terulian gold thread. Har-Vi's fashion sense was not the least of what the Jedi Council found offensive. Force, but the place was as dull and uninteresting as an intergalactic retirement home. "I'm scheduled to leave for Torva soon, and that mission is of critical importance."

"We know."

"Do you? Shucks. And I've just come back from another mission, one that would've failed without me, I might add."

"You did well," Master Thordak boomed from his seat, and Har-Vi subtly used the Force to deflect the resulting spray of spittle from Thordak's trunk-like mouth. Ysica sat back, evidently content to leave matters in Thordak's capable… paws.

"Why, thank you," drawled Har-Vi. "I only averted an interstellar war."

Thordak glared. "However, it has come to our attention that you have violated articles seventeen and twenty of the Jedi Code of Conduct."

Ah. So  _that's_  what it was. "I put it to you," Har-Vi replied, in his smoothest voice, "that there was no violation whatsoever. Both, ah, 'conducts' were entirely consensual. And none of the parties were previously... engaged."

"Married, you mean."

"Wedded. Betrothed. Promised. Whatever you want to call it. I checked."

There was a scandalized murmur among the ranks of the assembled masters. Har-Vi very carefully did not look at Master Ysica, who he was fairly certain was imagining several creative ways of castrating Har-Vi with the Force.

"The penalty for breaking said rules," Thordak continued, a vein in his forehead visibly  _throbbing_ , "is the forfeit of every off-world mission until such time as the Council deems you ready to represent the Jedi again."

Har-Vi boggled. "You can't be serious. I'm needed off-world! I have a mission scheduled in the Replicate Galaxy next month!"

"Not anymore," said Master Saggel, from across the room. "Now, you have a clean-up scheduled in the temple gardens."

What - what the  _krell_  was this? Was he being demoted to a  _novice_? For showing uncommon strategic intelligence and resolving a major conflict without any bloodshed at all? "This is ridiculous."

"No, you are."

Oh, fuck.

That was Ysica's voice. Har-Vi finally gathered the courage to look at her and, yipes, all right, that was the look of impending castration, right there.

He - there was no other word for it - girded himself. "I saved approximately fifty-five million lives."

"You seduced the princess of the Gehanne kingdom  _and_  the ambassador of the Noor Republic." 

"Well, they were at war, and then they weren't. Clearly, the tactic worked. I got them to listen to me - does it really matter how?"

"The body is  _sacred_  - "

"Which is exactly why it must be used in service of the Force."

Ysica stared at him. "The Force."

Har-Vi tried his level best not to remember the delightfully diaphanous flower petals that the princess of Gehanne preferred to wear to bed, or the Noor ambassador's dark, half-lidded eyes as she planted her boot on Har-Vi's naked chest.

"It seems," Mystra interjected, from next to Thordak, "that Spectyr equates his libido with the Force."

"The Force moves in mysterious ways," said Har-Vi, making his eyes big and earnest. "Gehanne and Noor were deeply wounded, Councilors.  _Spiritually_  wounded. The Force made me the agent of its healing touch - "

"Oh, please, stop." Ysica seemed on the brink of dropping her head into her hands. "Never in the history of the Jedi has one such as you appeared."

"I'll take that as a compliment!" Har-Vi beamed. "Now, am I off the proverbial hook or am I off the proverbial hook?"

"You've just hung yourself on it," said Ysica, dryly. "Congratulations, Har-Vi. You will be the proud Master of a new Padawan within the week."

"Or?"

"Or your mission to Torva - and all your subsequent missions - will be canceled."

He couldn't believe this. "You're grounding me."

Ysica raised her eyebrows. "Needs must."

Fuck it, but the Jedi made the worst parents  _ever_. Which was why Har-Vi had wanted to avoid becoming one; having a Padawan was akin to having a child, after all, and Har-Vi didn't want to screw some poor kid up worse than this whole straight-laced systems of Dos and Don'ts already would. "What if I don't find anyone?"

"You'll find someone," said Ysica, peaceably. (Ysica was the sort that was only ever peaceable after victory. Hypocrite.) "What the Force requires, the Force provides."

"I hope it'll provide me the  _krell_  off Coruscant and back to work."

Ysica smiled. Sweetly. It was terrifying. "We hope so, too."

 


End file.
